


A Little Too Human

by winterspirit13



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Aziraphale helps, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley feels a little bit too human, Eventual Fluff, Fever, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kind of at the end, Love Confessions, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Post Armaggedon't, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sick Character, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Tumblr Prompt, Whump, don't worry hes still a demon these two will be in love for all of forever, hey I love these two so much, it's cute what can i say, tartan bed, thank you everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterspirit13/pseuds/winterspirit13
Summary: taylortut asked: I am finally here with Good Omens prompts!! Okay, so let me know if you don't like this and I can try again, but I D E S I R E more crowley sickfic content :) maybe he has a fever and doesn't even realize because mortal stuff is so foreign to him that he can't figure out why his head hurts and he's dizzy until Aziraphale points it out? :)Crowley oversleeps for a lunch with his angel at the Ritz and isn't feeling well. He only gets worse, and he has no clue what's happening. Terrified, he lets Aziraphale help.





	A Little Too Human

When Crowley showed up late, it was fashionable, if a bit unusual for a lunch date with his – with _the angel_. A lunch appointment. A casual meet-up, maybe.

They had made reservations at the Ritz for 8:00 sharp, and according to Crowley’s mobile, it was 8:20 when he came sauntering in to sit across from Aziraphale.

  
The angel had ordered an appetizer and was picking at it nervously before his eyes settled on Crowley, and in an instant, the tension left him. “Oh, _there_ you are, dear, I was about to get worried!”  
  
Crowley rolls his eyes, which was utterly pointless with his dark shades covering the demonic things, but Crowley knew the message got across just the same. Aziraphale seems to understand him some way or another these days.  
  
“Mn, yeah, no reason to be worried,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Lost track of a bit of a nap, that’s all.” Which was not necessarily true, but also was not a lie.  
  
Crowley, of course, being a demon could lie. In fact, he might say he could do it rather well considering that he had kept hell off his tail for, oh, ‘round six thousand years until the Armageddon’t became a thing. But while he could lie well enough to the uninterested party-and he’ll certainly did not care about him on any deeply personal level-he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the angel.  
  
So yes, he had indeed overslept a bit in what could be considered a nap. The only bit that was anything of note was that he didn’t actually mean to take a nap in the first place. He had been stalking through his flat, inspecting his plants when he had felt a bone-deep tired start to set in.  
  
He sat only for a second on a bench more concrete than comfort, and suddenly he had slept a little over a day. Crowley just wanted to sleep at least a thousand more, he felt so exhausted.

But leaving that out wasn’t really _lying_ after all.

Aziraphale sighed. “I never did understand the appeal but, well,” he gestured to the food in front of him, “I suppose to each their own, my dear. I’m just glad you decided to wake up this century!”

Crowley could tell the angel was trying to settle any weird feelings with the jest, but somehow his mind was just a little… drifty. But he was pretty certain a smirk would do the trick, as it usually did when he wasn’t sure how to respond anyway.

Thank _someone_ for sunglasses.

It did indeed do the trick, and Aziraphale smiled, easily settling down easily into the pattern they had managed for so long. He began with some small talk about his shop and the customers he had scared off, and even explained the newest novel he had found himself immersed in.

On the other hand, Crowley felt completely lost in what he was supposed to be doing. It was all he could take to try and make the right noises, or look like he was paying attention to the angel (which was a skill he had mastered, letting him talk about books for ages that Crowley couldn’t care less about if it weren’t important to Aziraphale).

He didn’t even notice the waiter ready to take their order until Aziraphale cleared his throat pointedly, murmuring a soft, “Crowley, dear?”

“Oh, just some wine, really. Whatever you’d recommend,” Crowley grumbles, waving off the waiter. He was hoping that since he usually didn’t eat much anyway, it didn’t seem off, but the truth was the thought of even trying anything made his stomach turn. It was confusing, to say the least.

Something was wrong, Crowley thought, and the worried looks Aziraphale was constantly giving him when the angel thought he wasn’t looking only confirmed as much. The dinner seemed to pass by in somewhat of a fog. He felt absolutely miserable, but not in any way he was used to. He wasn’t _upset_ but he still felt like absolute shit. It was all he could do to keep himself awake and mostly alert, giving the occasional one-word answer whenever Aziraphale trailed off in a way he was clearly meant to respond to.

It was when a dull ache set in behind his eyes that things truly got out of hand. Even his own voice started to feel like it was drilling into his head, and the shining lights of the restaurant made him wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. Like his bed, or Aziraphale’s couch.

It was a relief when Aziraphale was finished. He was delighted with the meal as always, but there was something of a worried tone in his voice as he praised the food. Even then, he didn’t say anything about it. For all of Crowley’s going too fast, Aziraphale knew by now that something a little too caring or personal before the demon was ready, and he would be scared off.

Sometimes he was annoyed at the angel’s caution around him like he were a not-quite-tamed animal. Other times, Crowley was grateful for it. Right now, Crowley couldn’t decide, because his brain felt like it was being baked and pounded into mush at the same time.

“Shall we go then?” Aziraphale asks, straightening out his jacket.

“I was gonna pay the bill, angel,” Crowley grumbles. Even if he was being rather awful company - not that he was the best anyways, Aziraphale really deserved better for h- well, for somewhere’s sake – he could at least give him that much.

Aziraphale shook his head, eyes crinkling in the way they did when he found something particularly peculiar, or even perhaps silly. “Oh, really Crowley,” he huffed. It was much more endearing than exasperated. “I believe I’ll manage this one time. But maybe you could, well, give me a lift?”

If it wouldn’t hurt his head so much, Crowley would have laughed. Instead, he smiled, just a little bit. Because the angel was still so shy, and never mind how he felt, he wasn’t about to say no when Aziraphale so rarely outright asked him something like that. “’Course I will,” Crowley said, willing away the strange urge to shiver.

He was rewarded with the sight of Aziraphale smiling brightly at him as he stood up. Crowley stood to join him.

And _oh, fuck_.

The restaurant was suddenly spinning. Crowley shook, feeling chilled and far, far weaker than he should. His vision was being encroached by darkness, and he stumbled weakly back, catching himself on the table with a clamber.

Nosey eyes were quickly miracled away and Aziraphale was by his side. “Crowley? Crowley, what is it, are you hurt?”

“Angel, I don’t know what’s happening, I feel awful, _I’m scared,_ ” Crowley says. Except he didn’t, and instead, all that came out was “Nnghh.”

Another wave of vertigo overcame him and when he blinked away his spotty vision, they were in the bookshop, Aziraphale immediately beginning to pace with nervousness that practically rolled off him.

Crowley sits himself down on the couch – if one could call nearly falling onto it without any sense of gracefulness sitting – and puts his hand to his head. It was hot. His body, however, felt freezing, and he curled up back into the fabric, trying to conserve his warmth as he shivers.

Aziraphale approaches him, still fidgeting anxiously. “Please tell me what’s wrong, dear. You’re frightening me,” he asks softly.

“Angel, I-“ Crowley doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s _happening_ , and what if he’s going to discorporate? Or worse? It would be more than inconvenient, what with hell wanting his blood and all, there was no way he’d make a quick return topside. That is if he ever managed it. He didn’t want to _leave_ his angel. Not when they finally had a real chance.

Before he realized he was even doing it, Aziraphale had taken off his glasses, setting them down gently, and had begun to wipe away his tears. Crowley’s eyes were blown completely yellow, without a white bit to be seen; a sure sign of his distress. Crowley leaned into his hand, a somewhat strangled whimper escaping his throat. Aziraphale shushed him softly, and Crowley managed to find his voice.

“I don’t know _why_ , Aziraphale.” The tearful tremble was still thick in his speech, although later he would never admit to being so emotional.

The angel looks troubled by this. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling then?” Crowley nods slowly.

“I’m… tired. Everything hurts, angel, can’t think straight… my head hurts. And it’s bloody freezing in here,” he complained, his body shuddering to prove his point.

Aziraphale’s face pinched further. “It’s warm here, my dear… you’re, well, rather feverish, it seems.” Crowley stares at him blankly. It was most certainly not _warm_ although his forehead was delightfully cooled by the angel’s hands still resting on his face. When it was clear that he wasn’t getting the point, Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley, I believe you might be sick,” he states carefully. 

He blinks. “Demons don’t get sick, angel,” Crowley says.

Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale was onto something. He certainly _felt_ ill, after all. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, getting sick was something… human. And Crowley could tell, even now, weak and pitiful as he felt, he was still very much a demon.

“Perhaps, but we’ve spent all this time around them, well… it could be possible, couldn’t it?” Aziraphale ponders. “Unless you have a better idea?” His eyebrow is raised in a way that looks innocent, but holds a challenge to it, almost daring Crowley to disagree.

He just shrugs. “Guess so.” He hadn’t been around anything holy enough to worry and if this was what being sick was like then… well, that was that. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to do any more than just accept it.

Pushing himself up with his arms off of the couch, he takes a clumsy step forward, feeling horribly dizzy again. He stumbles, but instead of falling, he’s steadied by a soft pair of hands. “Dear, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks. “You’re in no state to be walking around like that.”

“Gotta get home, ‘Zzzira,” Crowley explains. He’s leaning on Aziraphale quite heavily, letting his eyes close to stop the room from spinning. His stomach had started to spin with it. “Just need a bit of ressst,” he hisses, forgetting to stop the odd way he speaks, although he hardly notices it.

“Oh, Crowley,” murmurs Aziraphale, his voice unbearably tender. “I can just make you a bed here. I would be far too worried to let you go off alone when you can hardly walk.”

Crowley tries to argue his case, but all that comes out is stammers, and so when the angel sweeps him off his feet (literally, figuratively he had managed that 6,000 or so years before) he doesn’t struggle. Instead, he moans at the disorienting feeling, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. He holds Crowley tighter.

Crowley was too light, too easy for the angel to carry.

Aziraphale sets him down on the bed – sheets, predictably in a familiar tartan pattern. Immediately, Crowley pulls the blankets around him, grateful to the warmth they provide. His shivering subsides from full body shudders to just a slight bit of shakiness. Aziraphale leaves but is back just as quickly with a cool glass of water and a few white pills.

“Take these,” he instructs, guiding Crowley into a sitting position. When did it get so hard to do that? His confusion must have shown on his face. “Your fever is rising quite a bit dear, you might not be feeling better any time soon, but this should help,” explains Aziraphale.

Crowley considers this and takes the pills with the water before laying back. His eyes feel heavy.

Someone is tucking him in, and it must be Aziraphale, and his hair is being stroked. Crowley mummers softly, “Please stay,” as he begins to drift off.

He thinks he hears a response of “Of course, my love,” from his angel, but maybe that’s just the fever talking

**Author's Note:**

> GOOD OMENS Y'ALL I'M OBSESSED!!! 
> 
> I absolutely love this fandom and I've been reading so many fics, so I thought why not write my own! These two have taken over my heart and there will definetly be more fics from me to come! 
> 
> Please leave a review or some kudos if you'd like, it's my first time writing for Crowley and Aziraphale so I'd love any sort of feedback! Thank you so much for reading, and it really makes my day to share this stuff with you all!  
> PS: if ur reading this and it's late, go to sleep, take a break from reading, your health is important.


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